


A Few Flickers of Insight

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, it's a masturbation fic y'all, light edging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-09
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 08:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10185233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: The easiest way for Jyn to stop thinking of others as family is to make herself think very non-familial thoughts about them. Thankfully, this isn't a challenge with her current crewmates.Written for the prompt "Jyn masturbates to thoughts of all her Rogue One teammates" on the Rogue One kink meme.





	

Jyn would feel guilty when fantasising about her crewmates, were it not a survival tactic that had served her well in recent years. After Saw abandoned her, the second father she'd lost in less than a decade, she knew she could not survive losing a third family; fantasising idly about anyone she could not easily hate was a way to block herself from forming familial attachments, a way to stop seeing friends as pseudo-siblings, pseudo-parents.

Jyn hasn't had a room to herself that isn't a prison cell in so long that it feels like a luxury, even if she knows it isn't one the rebel base will be able to spare for more than a few days. She'll head to the freshers later, but for now just lying down in relative peace and quiet is a relief.

She doesn't let her mind wander idly, not with the events of Eadu still a fresh wound, one she isn't ready to treat. She focuses on the safest, easiest of her crewmates to think about, first.

Baze and Chirrut aren't only much older than her, they're clearly more interested in each other than anyone else. There's history there, and judging by the ease with which they snipe at each other, a lot of it.

Jyn folds her arms behind her head and closes her eyes, making herself as comfortable as she can under the circumstances, her muscles still aching from running and climbing and plain, simple exhaustion. She doesn't like to rush her fantasies - she'd rather take her time with them, work herself up long before she slips her hand between her legs, used to having to steal five minutes at best in which she could risk loosening her clothes long enough to masturbate.

All her crewmates are easy enough on the eye. Baze wears his scar like his anger, something obvious but not a distraction, and she can't help but admire his long hair and beard, knowing from past experience how that sort of texture might feel under her hands or between her legs. Chirrut, on the other hand, looks smoother than his age should allow, and the contrast between the two of them is a pleasing one.

And, of course, there's their strength. Baze in sheer size and raw power, Chirrut in coiled tension like a spring, deceptively lithe.

Jyn lets herself picture how they might look together in private; they don't seem to touch often in public, leaning into each other's space without occupying it entirely, but Chirrut's blindness must make their moments alone much more physical. Chirrut feeling out Baze's face; Baze thumbing Chirrut's plump lips open before sealing them again with a kiss; Chirrut would be spoiled for choice when grabbing Baze to pull him close, the length of Baze's hair and breadth of his shoulders and waist giving him all too many places to choose from.

They would know each other inside out from years of experience, would strip each other by turns quick and slow, knowing when to tease and when to rush, careful with what clothes and accessories they let drop, and which had to be set aside or folded neatly first.

Baze would be as hungry with his eyes as Chirrut would be with his hands.

Jyn chews on her lip, tries to decide where she'd like to picture them, and sets her mind on a large bedroll under a night sky - somewhere warmer than Jedha, but still desert-like. Somewhere soft, perhaps sandy, where Chirrut could be rough in pushing Baze down onto the bedroll without worrying about hurting him. Somewhere Chirrut could take his time running his hands down the thick expanse of Baze's chest, scoping out his hips and thighs before burying his head between them.

Chirrut has a quick, clever mouth and plush lips she almost envies Baze for knowing; whatever Baze has between his legs, she's willing to bet Chirrut has worked wonders there.

The thought has Jyn clenching her thighs, imagining herself in Baze's place for this, then topping that thought with the idea of Baze sitting her in his lap, holding her open with broad fingers for Chirrut's dexterous ones, for Chirrut's tongue.

She rides out the spike of arousal at that image while it lasts, rubs her legs together and enjoys a shiver when her clit throbs, responding to the thought of Chirrut licking at it.

Fantasising about Baze and Chirrut would be enough to make her come if she started touching herself now, but there's a reason she wants to think of all of her crewmates this time, and she makes her mind wander over to Bodhi next.

Bodhi is too pretty for her tastes, but easy enough to daydream about because of that undeniable beauty. She doesn't touch pretty people if she can because it's too tempting to wreck them, to bite and mark them, and the guilty twist of knowing that is why she keeps the thought of relationships with them for fantasies alone.

It's a kind of guilt that works well alongside the sweeter, more domestic sex she imagines with people like Baze and Chirrut.

She's seen plenty in her travels to give her ideas about exactly how she'd like to wreck someone like Bodhi, if he allowed it and she actually wanted to. How she'd tie him down and ride his mouth, how she'd cover him in bruises with her teeth and her hands and the toys she's seen used in holovids. How she'd make him cry out for so many different reasons before wringing an orgasm out of him, leaving him shaking, maybe even crying.

She'd listen if he said no, or said stop. She's sure of that. It still doesn't mean she wants to act on that urge to hurt him in the first place.

The throbbing of her clit is edging towards painful now, begging to be dealt with, and she shimmies her pants down just enough that she can still spread her legs a little while slipping a hand between them, sliding her index and middle fingers through the wetness gathered there before spreading it around her labia and over her clit.

She still needs to think about Cassian, and left him until last for a reason.

She doesn't want to linger on the thought of him for long. Doesn't want to linger on how he's exactly her type, but he's shown up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Doesn't want to think too long about the man who almost, almost killed her father.

She frowns as she rubs slow circles around her clit, occasionally drawing her finger across it when she can bear how sensitive it is to touch, frowns at how much she _wants_ this particular fantasy. How she wants to see his face soften, how she wants his hands on her more than any of the others; wants him kissing her slowly, deeply, wants him to lick the sweat from between her breasts and suck on her nipples until they hurt. How she wants his fingers inside of her anywhere she can take them.

She almost comes at the thought, takes her fingers off herself and stills, forces herself not to. She hates being vulnerable, hates the idea she could ever enjoy it.

It's too dangerous thinking about Cassian alone, so she invites Bodhi into her thoughts again, someone she can allow to take her place in being vulnerable.

She can bear Cassian's hands on her breasts if she imagines Bodhi's tongue on her clit; she can bear kissing Cassian if she imagines his cock buried to the hilt inside Bodhi; she can bear fucking Cassian if Bodhi is pressed up against her back, kissing her neck, worshipping her skin.

Her thoughts of Cassian are sharp in how soft they are, and her thoughts of Bodhi are something close to the reverse of that, and she rubs her clit harder and harder, arches her hips to grind down on her fingers, finally letting herself come at the idea of being fucked by Cassian and Bodhi both, heat at her back and her front, hands reverent all over her body.

It's a good, long, satisfying orgasm and her already tired thighs are grateful for the release when she lets them go slack in the aftermath, tugging her blanket up to her chin with her free hand, wiping the other off on the sheet beneath her. She hopes the sheets get changed between guests, but only feels a vague and quickly passing guilt at the thought they might not.

She's too tired to think of much else, now, and needs the sleep. Eadu was exhausting. Everything is exhausting, lately. And it isn't long before she'll be on a ship with the others again, headed to Scarif, to bring the fight to the Empire.

Maybe to save the galaxy, even.

And isn't that a thought worth falling asleep to?


End file.
